OLD MAN CHING’ANGA

Old man Ching’anga was old indeed
Complete with grey hair, wrinkles and a bum knee
Lived so long in the African heat his face was leathered
But had character due to all he had weathered
Every day on his porch he sat
Always with his pipe and beat up hat
Slender in build with an arthritic bend
Always with a ready smile and a gaze that was wicked intelligent


He had an acerbic tongue
That was reserved for the foolish and young
He was sometimes cantankerous
His dealings with his beloved chickens were always humorous


Despite his actions he was a humble man
He was never his own number one fan
He never blew his own trumpet
Or because of his achievements became puffed up like a crumpet


He was grandfather to many
Who sat at his feet to listen to his story
They listened with eager faces
To his sojourn through life’s phases
They listened to his wise sayings
Took heed of his interesting adages
He told of Malawi’s rich history
To him Nyasaland it would always be
His knowledge seemed to be a bottomless fount
For there is much he knew about
There was much he knew of Rhodesia
For a while he had lived in Tanganyika
He taught of tribes, language and culture
Of human nature and even agriculture


We are shocked to the core
Old man Ching’anga is no more
We’ve read the obituaries
Here Old Man Ching’anga lies
The world has lost a treasure
Far more than we can measure.


And so the onus is on us
(Please listen before you cuss)
To teach the younger generations
The old man’s wise sayings
To ensure the wisdom he imparted is not lost
For, to us, that would be a great cost